Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “Full of those without means,” she replied. “I believe we’ll find that those with means have fled south and that there are many properties vacant throughout the city.”

  “They’ll be looted,” he warned.

  “I find myself not caring,” Malahi said. “Break the locks. If need be, we’ll break down the doors to the manors of the High Lords themselves.”

  A commotion at the entrance caught her attention, and Finn appeared, pushing his way between the guards. He scurried over to Killian, pulling frantically at his arm and whispering something that Lydia couldn’t make out.

  “We need to go,” Killian ordered.

  “I’m not finished—”

  “Now.”

  For once Malahi didn’t argue. Jerking her skirts up to her knees, exposing worn riding boots, the Princess ran across the warehouse, her guard forming up around her. Outside, the crowd was silent no longer, a swell of angry voices growing like a storm. There was a small half circle of space between the carriage and the crowd, which had nothing to do with the aging guardsman and everything to do with Killian’s menacing war-horse. The animal stood where his rider had left him, but he pawed the ground restlessly, snapping his teeth at anyone who approached.

  Killian had his sword in hand, keeping between Malahi and the crowd as he half-lifted her into the carriage. The other guardswomen had their blades out, too, and Lydia fumbled to get hers free, palms slick with sweat. They were all grabbing on to various handholds on the sides of the carriage, so she did the same, wishing her grip didn’t feel so weak, her knees so wobbly.

  “Go,” Killian ordered the driver, and the woman snapped the whip. The carriage horses squealed and leapt forward, only to grind to a halt as the crowd refused to part.

  “Make way for the Princess,” Killian shouted, heeling his horse toward the crowd. For him, they scrambled back, moving out of reach of both his blade and his horse’s teeth. The carriage surged again, and Lydia clung to her handhold, her eyes on the crowd that pressed in the moment Killian was out of reach. Their eyes were desperate. Hungry. And in an instant, Lydia realized what they wanted.

  “They’re after the horses,” she shouted.

  It was too late.

  A stocky woman with a knife lunged, her blade slicing through a carriage horse’s throat. It reared, slamming against the horse next to it, then dragged the whole team forward several paces before collapsing.

  The crowd was upon it before the poor creature hit the ground, those with knives or axes moving with speed to slaughter the remaining three horses. It was madness, women and children climbing over one another to cut loose handfuls of meat like wild animals, people fighting and being trampled.

  “Gods,” Gwen said. “Gods help us.”

  Because the crowd was surging against the carriage now, hands reaching up to claw at the gilt. Not gilt, Lydia realized. Gold.

  Killian drove his war-horse through the masses, shouting at people to move; then he reached down and jerked the carriage door open. In a flash of skirts, Malahi was in the saddle in front of him.

  “Retreat to the palace,” he shouted at them. “Stay close.”

  Lydia flung herself after him, pushing and fighting through the crowd. Someone elbowed her in the face, and she tasted blood, panic roaring through her veins as she struggled in the black horse’s wake. No one cared about her, only about the meat and the gold, but it was like trying to run upstream in a river. The other girls were punching and shoving their way through, some using their weapons out of desperation as they fought to protect their charge.

  Then the mood of the crowd shifted once again, more and more eyes shifting to Malahi.

  “She’s wearing gold and jewels!” a woman shouted. She screamed the words over and over, trying to rally those around her.

  “The Seventh take you,” Gwen swore at the woman, then shouted at Lydia, “Watch my back!” before striding toward the woman and slugging her in the face. But the damage was already done. The incensed crowd pressed closer, and Lydia saw a blade flash. Lunging, she tried to get her sword in between, but it was knocked from her grip, another blow sending her stumbling. A second later, she heard a scream of pain.

  Barely managing to keep her feet, Lydia searched for Gwen’s red and gold coat, but all she saw was a blur of angry faces. Lydia threw herself into the crowd, shoving her way to where Gwen had fallen, the desperate and starving people buffeting her from side to side.

  “Move!” she screamed, but her voice was one of hundreds, and no one listened. People were pushing back against the flow, splattered with blood and carrying chunks of horsemeat or pieces of the carriage with them. A nightmare.

  Then she caught sight of a red-clad figure on the ground, people stepping on and over the individual with as little regard as they did the cobbles. “Gwen,” she shouted, but the figure didn’t move, and with the press of humanity even Lydia’s mark wasn’t enough to tell her if the other girl was alive.

  Weight slammed against Lydia’s back, and then she was on the ground, crawling, trying to keep the pace even as boots and bare feet alike stepped on her legs and hands. She shrieked as one of her fingers broke beneath a heel but kept going, falling across Gwen’s still form.

  “Get up!” She dragged on Gwen’s arm, but the other girl barely stirred.

  Lydia tried to rise to her feet but was knocked down time and again. Gasps that were half sobs tore from her throat, exhaustion deadening her limbs as she protected Gwen’s body with her own. Unless they got clear of the crowd, they were both dead.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain, Lydia forced herself onto her hands and knees, lifting her head to search for the other guardswomen. For anyone who might help them. Then through the masses of civilians, her eyes latched on a hooded figure that stood amidst the chaos. It seemed to burn with life, the mists seething around it bright as the sun. But instead of being transfixed by the beauty, Lydia’s guts heaved, her throat burning with bile as dark eyes rimmed with fire looked over the crowd. Not human.

  Corrupted.

  33

  KILLIAN

  People flung themselves out of the way of his horse and Killian urged the animal to greater speed, its hooves ringing against the cobbles as they flew up the street. Killian held tight to Malahi with one arm, the Princess sitting sideways across his lap, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  “My guard,” she shouted over the noise. “Are they with us?”

  “They can take care of themselves,” Bercola bellowed from where she ran next to them, the only one capable of keeping his pace. “And it’s you the crowd is after, not them.”

  Killian cast a backward glance over his shoulder, counting red coats even as he searched for black hair and a pale face.

  There.

  Lydia was pushing through the masses, her expression unreadable from this distance but her head moving from side to side as though searching. She staggered as a woman carrying a handful of horsemeat slammed into her, colliding with another woman. Then the crowd surged again and Lydia disappeared from sight.

  Without thinking, Killian dragged on Surly’s reins, the stallion sliding to a stop even as Killian pushed Malahi into Bercola’s arms. Then digging in his heels, he galloped back toward the crowd.

  “Stay with the Princess,” he shouted at the guards he passed, digging into his pocket and pulling out a handful of coins, which he tossed ahead of the pursuing crowd. The civilians dropped to their knees, fighting over the silver and gold, then turning on one another.

  His horse shrieked, reaching out to snap at any who came close, and Killian rose in his stirrups, searching for Lydia’s familiar red coat. But there was crimson everywhere, the people splattered with blood from the carriage horses and the blood of one another, dozens lying still, their bodies tripping up those trying to flee.

  A flicker of motion caught his eye, a pale face splattered with mud and blood, and he dug in his heels. “Move!” he roared at those in his way, a path clearing ahead of h
im, revealing Lydia sprawled over Gwen’s still form.

  Leaping off Surly’s back, he left the stallion to fend off the crowd. “Lydia!”

  She looked up, green eyes full of panic but very much alive. Relief flooded his veins as he caught her under the arms, lifting her upright, then pulling her against him as she swayed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, wiping blood from her eyes. “Gwen’s not.”

  “Shit!” He let go of her, bending to pick up Gwen’s limp form. Blood soaked the girl’s coat, but he felt a whisper of breath against his cheek. “Get on the horse. You’ll need to hold her.”

  “Killian!” There was urgency in her voice. “There’s one of the corrupted in the crowd. I saw her.”

  His stomach flipped. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse.”

  He searched the diminishing crowd, ignoring those who jostled against him, but he saw nothing. Except that didn’t mean Lydia was wrong about what she’d seen, and he’d left Malahi alone with only a handful of guards.

  “Lydia, get on the horse!”

  She scrambled onto the stallion’s back, and he eased Gwen across the saddle in front of her, unleashing a stream of profanity at the horse as he shuffled sideways and tried to bite. Grabbing the reins, Killian broke into a run, trusting Lydia had the wherewithal to hold on.

  He sprinted through the streets, knowing the route Bercola would take, and it didn’t take long until he caught sight of the group, Malahi surrounded by her guards.

  They whirled at the sound of hooves, and ignoring Bercola’s admonition that she keep running, Lena sprinted toward him. “Gwen!”

  “She’s alive,” Killian replied. “We’ll send for a healer as soon as we reach the palace, though the temple will be strapped dealing with that mess.”

  “Take her straight there,” Malahi said. “Bercola and the others will remain with me.”

  “My priority is getting you back to safety,” he snapped. “Your decision put us in this mess, Malahi, so for once, maybe you could refrain from arguing.”

  Color leached from the Princess’s skin; then her eyes flicked to Lydia. “You take her, then. You look in need of a healer yourself.”

  Killian clenched his teeth. The last place he wanted Lydia going was Hegeria’s temple, but he had no argument to stand upon for it being someone else. And as it was, he could see Lydia’s wounds were slowly beginning to heal, the slice across her temple no longer bleeding. Without the excuse of a healer having seen to her, someone was bound to ask questions. He had to trust that Lydia was clever enough to see this through.

  “Take Gwen to the temple,” he said. He flipped the reins over his horse’s head, holding the stallion steady until she had him in hand. “Tell the healers Her Highness sent you. When you’re through, head back to the barracks. One of the other girls can bring the horse back to the palace.”

  Lydia nodded, and he gave Surly a slap on the haunches, watching as the stallion cantered up the street, taking her out of his reach to protect.

  And praying he wouldn’t have cause to regret not going with her.

  34

  LYDIA

  Foul-tempered as the stallion was, he was well trained, and despite being only a middling rider, Lydia managed to guide him to the temple while keeping Gwen balanced in front of her.

  The other girl was hurt badly, and in the few moments she gained consciousness she sobbed in pain, the sound tearing at Lydia’s heart.

  You could help her, a voice whispered inside her head. You could take away her pain.

  But at what cost?

  It was that question that stilled her hand, that caused her to take care that she did not touch Gwen’s exposed skin. That caused her to dig in her heels, urging the stallion to greater speed.

  There were already dozens of wounded making their way into the god circle, and those helping them eyed Killian’s horse warily. But it was not their eyes that Lydia felt most keenly. Turning her head skyward, she regarded the seven stone towers looming above, all of them carved with reliefs to resemble the gods, with the exception of the tower of black stone, which possessed only the suggestion of eyes.

  Her skin crawled as she passed into the circle, her heart catching as the towers seemed to bend forward, faces coming closer to peer at her intently, the wind whispering between them as though they spoke to one another. Then she blinked, and they were once more inanimate structures. Stone carved by the hands of mortals.

  Hegeria’s temple was no taller than the rest, but its base was broader than the others, the size necessary given the number of individuals the goddess marked. Riding right up to the open doors, Lydia called out, “I’m here by order of Her Royal Highness, Princess Malahi.”

  Only then did she see the dozens of injured laid out in rows, individuals in white robes moving among them carrying cases of bandages and other supplies. She watched with fascination as a girl, who could not have been more than thirteen, reached inside a man’s opened guts, deep wrinkles forming around her eyes, her hair turning to grey. But the concentration on her face never faltered as she drew the skin of his belly together, sealing it but stopping before the wound was fully healed. Then she picked up a length of catgut and a needle and without pause began to stitch the deep slice in his leg

  “Sent by Malahi, you say?”

  Lydia jerked her attention away from the surgery to find a thin old man with his hand resting on the horse’s neck, his white robes stained with blood. “Yes, Gwen was hurt in the riot.”

  The old man’s mouth tightened, but then he nodded. “Let’s get her down.”

  Showing surprising strength, he caught Gwen in his arms as Lydia slid the other girl off the saddle. Dismounting, Lydia helped him carry Gwen inside, laying her on one of the many cots that had been set out. Straightening Gwen’s legs, she looked up to discover the healer was no longer an old man, the age having receded from his face. It was both strange and magical, made more so in knowing that the same thing happened to her when she used her mark.

  He looked up and caught her staring, and Lydia recovered by asking, “Will she be all right?”

  “Yes, yes. We’ll send her back to the Princess when she’s rested. Now get that animal out of my temple.”

  Heat rose on her cheeks, and she hurried to the door to retrieve Surly’s reins, leading the horse back outside. But instead of mounting, she stood next to the animal’s shoulder, watching as the healer gestured for two boys in white robes to attend him. With bloody hands, he gestured as he worked, obviously instructing them, though Lydia was too far away to hear.

  But she was desperate to know what he was saying, to learn how her mark worked, even if she was never to use it. Dropping the horse’s reins and muttering at him to stay put, she crept back inside, leaning against the doorframe.

  “… broken ribs … perforated … must repair them manually prior to…”

  She caught only snippets of what he said, but as he slid a scalpel down Gwen’s abdomen and then reached inside to right her broken rib cage, Lydia found she could see where he was directing the misty flows of life. That she could see his essence, as well as that of the two boys, diminishing, while Gwen’s gained in strength.

  Then the healer lifted his face and caught her staring, his brow furrowing as he studied her. Lydia’s skin turned to ice, certain that she’d been discovered, but he only said, “Get back to your mistress, girl.”

  35

  KILLIAN

  They reached the palace without further incident, though the city simmered with tension and fear.

  “Keep the gates shut,” Killian ordered the old men standing guard. “I’ll arrange for reinforcements.”

  He turned back to Malahi, wanting her inside the palace and behind locked doors, but she was striding across the lawn toward the stables. “Update the men on guard,” he said to Bercola, and then started after the Princess.

  “Malahi!” he called, but she ignored him and kept walking.
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  Breaking into a run, he caught up to her, catching her elbow, but she jerked it out of his grip.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I should’ve done a long time ago. What I would’ve done, if I’d known just how desperate they were.”

  Pushing open the door to the stables, she walked down the rows of stalls, stopping in front of one holding a chestnut carriage horse. Clipping a line to its halter, she went to the stall and retrieved its teammate, leading both animals down the aisle.

  He stepped in her path. “I’ll get someone else to take them.”

  “No.” She lifted her chin, wet hair clinging to her cheeks. “You were right that the city is dangerous, Killian. But you are wrong to think that means I should hide from my people. They need to know that I will stand by them. That I’ll fight for them.”

  There was one of the corrupted prowling the city—Lydia had seen it. But he couldn’t very well admit it without compromising her secret. “You could’ve been killed in that riot. And if that means nothing to you, remember that Gwen nearly was killed.”

  “Then I’ll go alone.”

  “Malahi—”

  “I’m going, Killian. Whether you follow is your own choice.”

  “The Six grant me patience,” he growled, but he stepped out of her path, following as she led the animals to the palace gate.

  Malahi walked down the street, Killian and the rest of her guard following at her heels. The civilians who caught sight of them followed, but the feel of it was different than it was before, the animosity gone. The Princess reached one of the city squares, leading the animals to the fountain at the center, where she stepped up on the edge.

  Without saying a word, she gestured to a tall woman standing nearby to approach and handed her the lead to one of the horses. “Share with those in need.” The woman nodded, leading the animal away. Malahi did the same with the other horse, the crowd calmly accepting the animal—a far cry from the frenzied mass they’d been less than an hour before.